“And I appreciate a designer who listens.” Her voice carried a hint of playfulness. “Instead of dismissing my operational concerns as irrelevant to the grand artistic vision.”
“Sounds like you’ve dealt with some ego problems in the past.”
“You have no idea. The last project manager we worked with actually said—and I quote—If you wanted practical, you should have hired an engineer.” She rolledher eyes. “As if aesthetics and functionality are mutually exclusive.”
I laughed. “On behalf of my profession, I apologize.”
“Accepted.” Her smile widened, genuine and warm. “You’re definitely an improvement.”
The compliment shouldn’t have affected me as much as it did. I’d received plenty of professional praise in my career and from clients far more prestigious than a family-owned resort in Dove Key. But Harper’s approval carried a weight that defied logic. I wanted to impress her, to see that light of appreciation in her eyes. It was a dangerous impulse for a man trying to maintain professional boundaries. Boundaries I wasn’t sure I could keep if she encouraged me.
I forced my attention back to the plans, tracing a line with my finger. “I’ve been thinking about the privacy plantings. If we shift them six inches, we could enhance the screening without compromising the ocean view.”
Harper leaned closer, studying the area I indicated. She nodded slowly. “I like that. And Finn would approve too. He’s been very concerned about whether people can see him building sandcastles from the cabanas.”
The mention of her six-year-old son brought a smile to my face. “Important design considerations from our youngest consultant.”
“He takes his advisory role very seriously.” Harper’s expression softened the way it always did when she spoke of Finn. “Yesterday he informed me that all pool areas should have secret tunnels for escape routes.”
“That’s actually not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t encourage him!” She laughed. “He already thinks you hang the moon since you let himhelpwith the initial measurements.”
I remembered that day clearly—Finn following mearound with a small measuring tape, solemnly recording numbers in a notebook that consisted mostly of creative spelling and stick figures. It had added an hour to my site survey, but the kid’s enthusiasm had been contagious.
“He’s a good assistant. Very detail-oriented.”
“He gets that from me.” Harper’s voice carried a note of pride.
Our eyes met again, and this time the connection held. The air between us electrified, becoming charged with something neither of us acknowledged out loud. I was acutely aware of every inch between us—not enough for propriety, too much for what I wanted. Her lips parted as if she might say something beyond the professional discussion we’d been maintaining. My eyes automatically dropped to her generous mouth.
The chime of her phone shattered the moment. Harper blinked, then reached into her pocket with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I should check this.”
I stepped back, grateful for the interruption even as disappointment coursed through me. The distance helped clear my head, reminding me of all the reasons I needed to keep my distance.
She glanced at the text and sighed. “Kitchen crisis. Apparently, there’s a disagreement about the new menu items that requires management intervention.”
“Sounds urgent,” I said, keeping my tone light.
“In the grand hierarchy of resort emergencies, food generally trumps construction.” She tucked her phone away and met my eyes again, her expression firmly back in professional territory. “I’m sorry to cut this short. Are we good with the wood change?”
“Absolutely. I’ll update the order specs this afternoon.”
“Perfect.” She gathered her clipboard. “I trust yourjudgment on the planting adjustments too. Whatever you think works best.”
I nodded, already missing her presence even though she hadn’t left yet. “I’ll have revised plans for you to review by the end of the week.”
“You’re the best, Chase.” She reached out, her hand briefly touching my arm.
With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the construction zone with the confident stride of someone who belonged everywhere she went. The place where her fingers had touched my arm tingled through the fabric of my shirt.
Movement at the edge of the construction zone caught my attention. Ben Coleridge, the eldest sibling, sat at one of the undisturbed pool tables, hunched over what appeared to be flashcards and textbooks. His posture spoke of frustration—shoulders tight, one hand stuck in his light brown hair as he stared at the materials spread before him.
Before I could overthink it, I approached the table. Ben was so absorbed in his studies that he didn’t notice me until I was nearly beside him.
“Double-checking drainage or dodging math?” I asked.
He snapped his head up, then snorted when he recognized me. “Neither. Trying to memorize acronyms that make absolutely no sense.”
